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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28131027">Worth it</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/vendettadays/pseuds/vendettadays'>vendettadays</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Haunting of Bly Manor (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Backstory, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Developing Relationship, Eventual Relationships, F/F, Introspection</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 14:23:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,644</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28131027</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/vendettadays/pseuds/vendettadays</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jamie's life from age five to when she first met Dani Clayton. And all the parts in between that made her Jamie.</p><p>The rest as they said was history.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dani Clayton/Jamie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Yuletide 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Worth it</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/resolute/gifts">resolute</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jamie was born Jamie Roberta Taylor in the maternity ward of St. Wilfred’s hospital, about a twenty-minute drive from the little mining town in South Yorkshire she called home. Seven pounds exactly and not an ounce over, the nurse had said, as they handed a screaming baby with a tuft of blonde hair over to her dad. </p><p>Her poor dad had the shock of his life when the nurse had congratulated him on the birth of his daughter. The doctors with all their fancy equipment and medical terms had been adamant that she would be a boy. And they had been preparing exactly for that. Except that hadn’t gone that way, did it?</p><p>At least her dad had the sense to add an ‘a’ to the end of her middle name when he had registered her birth. Even if she hated Roberta being her middle name. </p><p>It hadn’t much mattered anyway that the Taylors had welcomed Jamie, their first daughter, and not Jamie, their second son into the family. Denny’s old baby grows would be fine. The baby blanket the Lewises had knitted for Denny’s first birthday would be just as warm for Jamie as it had been for him. Any clothes Denny had outgrown would fit her perfectly.</p><p>All of that hadn’t mattered, because Jamie was just as boisterous and loud as the older Taylor boy. Maybe even louder. As she got older, her curly blonde hair darkened to brown and she was a spitting image of dad when he had been that age. The straight nose, the curly hair, and brown eyes and even down to the same precocious personality. She was Dennis Taylor’s girl through and through. No one would mistake her for anyone else’s child.</p><p>‘Da?’ Jamie’s tiny hand was enveloped in her dad’s large, rough and calloused palm. </p><p>‘Yeah, Jams, what’s it?’ </p><p>Jamie looked down, her feet skipping two steps to her dad’s one as they walked home from school. Her shoes crunched against the ground, kicking up tiny stones and gravel on the cracked pavement. Grey. Light grey. Dark grey. Even the sky was grey. Everything felt a little grey to Jamie. </p><p>Da shook her hand to get her attention. ‘Jamie?’</p><p>‘Do you have to go?’ The words blurted from Jamie’s mouth and she bit her lip. She knew Da’s answer before he turned to her. </p><p>‘It’s more money.’ </p><p>It was the same answer Ma said. The same answer Jamie heard being yelled at night when she was supposed to be sleeping. It was always about the money. There was never enough of it. Da would shout and Ma would shout back. And it always ended with the front door slamming shut, vibrating the four walls of the bedroom she shared with Denny. Denny never heard any of it. He slept like a rock, unaware of all the fighting that went on. Jamie heard it all, even the fights about other things that Jamie didn’t understand. Mrs Brown, her school teacher said it was polite to look at people when you spoke to them. She didn’t understand why it was so bad that her Ma looked at other people or that Da sometimes did the same too. </p><p>‘Come here.’ He stopped walking and crouched down next Jamie, elbowing resting on his right knee, chin on his palm. His lips stretched into a strained smile. ‘You’re five years-old now, that’s a proper grown-up age, ain’t it?’ </p><p>Jamie nodded. She nudged the ground with the tip of her shoe. A tiniest hint of green grew between the cracks. It was a bright burst of colour against all the grey. ‘I guess.’ </p><p>‘Course it is,’ said Da. ‘You’re a big girl and you’re gonna take care of Ma when I’m away. Keep an eye on your troublemaker brother, alright Jim Jam?’</p><p>A smile appeared on her face at the nickname her dad used. He always used it when he was being silly. She nodded. ‘Alright.’ </p><p>They carried on walking on home, hand in hand through the streets of their little town, past the post office, the bank, and the florist. All thoughts of money and mines faded when Jamie got home to the smell of fish fingers and chips for tea. </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p>Not a week later, Dennis Taylor went down into the mines. Six hundred metres down in the earth with only the dark dirt for company and not a ray of sunlight to warm his pallid skin. Jamie saw less and less of her dad as he worked more and more. When she did see him, he was covered in black. There would be soot on his face and on his hands, the powdery dust caught in the grooves of his skin and under his nails. The black grains were worse than the grey of her little town in South Yorkshire. By the time Jamie was six, she didn’t think she had seen her dad in over half a year. </p><p>And his absence only got longer. That was when the blokes started coming round to the house. It was a different bloke each week with a different face, sat in her dad’s chair at the dining table having breakfast in the morning. Steve. James. Johnny. David. It didn’t matter what they were called, they never stayed long.</p><p>Denny changed too. Like her dad, Jamie saw less and less of her brother. It wasn’t the mines that took him, but something else that she didn’t understand. He no longer played with her. Instead just glared at Jamie and ignored her whenever she spoke, like she didn’t exist. </p><p>Without her dad puttering around the house, his house plants went uncared for. Jamie tried, filled her mug with water and watered the fern on the windowsill in the living room, the snaking ivy in the kitchen, and the lily in the bathroom. Just like how she saw her dad do it. Except the leaves wilted and faded to yellow, and no amount of water Jamie poured into their pots had helped. The plants all died in the end and there was nothing Jamie could do to save them. </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p>The seasons changed from spring to summer, autumn to winter and it wasn’t long before it was two years since her dad first went down the mines. In the two years, Jamie learned to ignore the rotating faces of the blokes who appeared in the mornings. She learned to ignore the sooty spectre that roamed the house when her dad was home for a few days, every few months. Life went on and Jamie tried as best she could. </p><p>Her dad sent the money home at the end of each week and her mum would open the envelope that was pushed through the letterbox with a scowl. She cradled her growing belly, grumbling about it being slightly more money, but not a lot better than before. </p><p>Two years since her dad first went down, they closed the mines and her dad came home. The day Dad came home, she watched in silence as he stepped into the kitchen and stopped. Mum turned at the sound, Mikey in her arms, and froze. His eyes went to baby Mikey, stared for so long that the air in the room felt thin to Jamie and she struggled to breath, scared to break the silence. Something was wrong, she just didn’t know what. Her dad turned to her with a blank face.</p><p>‘Alright, Jamie?’ His voice was gruff, rough even, and sounding nothing like the man who used to grin at her and call her Jim Jams.  </p><p>She nodded without a word, hand gripping tight on her knees, her nails digging through the fabric of her trousers and into her skin. She bit the inside of her cheek against the pain in her mouth and knees. Her dad scoffed and left the room as silently as he had entered it. </p><p>The truth about living in a little town was that word got around. It travelled from mouth to mouth, spoken into ear to ear, and all meanings of the original words twisted and tangled and transformed into something completely new. Jamie heard it all. The things they called her dad. The things they called her mum. </p><p>The things they called her. Jamie walked to school with the words thrown at her. She clenched her fists and bit down on her bottom lip at the whispers that went around the playground. The other kids, the ones she had known all her life, had played out in the streets with and who had invited her to their home for tea, they all started to look at her differently. </p><p>She ignored it. She did her best to ignore it. She really tried. </p><p>‘Say it again!’ Jamie shoved Danny Hill in the shoulder and pushed with all her strength, sending him falling to the ground. She stalked over to Danny, her knuckles white and scuffed from where she had landed her fist against the wall trying to punch him. ‘I dare you to say it again!’ </p><p>She didn’t hear Danny say it again. Fighting in the school playground, even after school, was bound to attract attention and Mrs Smith stormed out of the school. Jamie didn’t wait to be caught. She ran and ran, shoes slapping against the pavement one step after the next. Her lungs burned with breathlessness, not drawing air in fast enough, and her muscles ached as adrenaline coursed through her blood and around her body.</p><p>Jamie burst through the front door of her house. The anger that had roared like a burning fire inside her quenched at Mikey’s wailing cries as he screamed his lungs off. She took the stairs two steps at a time and went into her parent’s room to Mikey’s cot.</p><p>‘Hey, hey, what’s wrong?’ She picked up Mikey, carefully supporting his head like she had been told. His little face was scrunched up and red, voice hoarse from crying non-stop for god knew how long. ‘Where’s Ma?’</p><p>It was 1967 and Jamie had come home to find little Mikey all alone in the house. The clothes were still in the drawers. The tiny perfume bottle amongst all the other knick-knacks was still on the dresser table in her parents’ room. The mug of tea in the kitchen was long cold.</p><p>Her mum was nowhere to be found. </p><p> </p><p>*** </p><p>They stuck it out for the next few years. Jamie did her best. She got up early, made the pot of tea like her mum used to, poured cereal into a bowl for herself and tried her best to get Mikey to eat. Dad woke up in the morning and looked at the three of them like he wasn't sure what to do with them. It was like he had left a part of himself down in the mines. Jamie didn’t recognise the man who stared blankly at her. </p><p>He did his best. </p><p>She did her best. </p><p>All it took was for one accident. One accident and a prim-looking lady in a beige-coloured suit jacket and skirt with a brown leather purse on her arm had arrived one day to take them away. Denny had run the moment they arrived. Jamie spat and screamed at the woman who tried to lead her into car. Mikey had hugged her leg in an unrelenting hold. </p><p>That day was the last time she saw Mikey, Denny and Dad.</p><p>Then it was foster care.</p><p>The anger that had simmered over the years smouldered into life and grew into a bonfire inside her. It licked at her thoughts and singed the words that she shot like flaming arrows from her mouth at the perverted men and bitter wives that took her in. More often than not, it ended with a smack on the back of her head, but she didn’t care. They’d thought taking in the local trash for a few quid was going to be easy? She’d lost too much to pretend that she was thankful for the glint in these old men’s eyes and the tired resignation on their wife’s faces. If they wanted easy then they should have thought of other ways to make money. </p><p>Jamie stuck it out for as long as she could. It was always a new family with each passing year with the same type of husband and wife. The last family she stayed with longer than all the others. A well-to-do family that had enough money to get by comfortably, who lived just outside of Sheffield in another small town that was much nicer than the kinds Jamie was used to. The husband was a manager at the local bank. The wife worked part-time at the post office. Their daughter, Ruth, was seventeen, the same age as Jamie, and whose blue eyes followed and lingered on Jamie whenever they were in the same room. </p><p>‘What’re you doing?’ asked Ruth from the door of Jamie’s room. It was less a room and more a cupboard, but it was bigger than anything Jamie had ever slept in. At least it had a window.  </p><p>‘Nothing.’ </p><p>Ruth seemed to hesitate at the threshold before shutting the door as she walked in. She shifted on the bed, making room for Ruth who sat down next to her, eyes watching warily when Ruth turned to face her. </p><p>‘Have you ever kissed someone?’ </p><p>Jamie rolled her eyes. If smashing lips and clacking teeth and too much tongue was kissing, then yeah, Jamie had kissed before. ‘Course I have.’ </p><p>‘I haven’t,’ said Ruth simply. She bit her lip as her eyes went to Jamie’s mouth. ‘I wonder what it’s like.’ </p><p>‘Well, you ain’t missing much,’ said Jamie with a scoff. She didn’t know what all the fuss was. The kisses with the boys behind the bike sheds at school had been underwhelming. </p><p>‘I heard it could be different. </p><p>Jamie’s breath caught in her throat when Ruth moved closer, her hand landing on Jamie’s thigh and squeezing. She watched as Ruth licked her lips, her teeth biting down on her bottom lip that sent Jamie’s pulse racing in a way that she hadn’t felt before. Jamie swallowed down the lump in her throat. ‘Yeah?’ </p><p>‘Yeah,’ repeated Ruth, eyes hooded as she leaned further forward. </p><p>They met in a tentative brush of lips. Jamie pressed closer, mouth seeking the plush, plumpness of Ruth’s lips. She felt a hand reach into her hair. It pulled her closer, fingers threading and tightening in her hair until it hurt and Jamie gasped at the unexpected spark that travelled through her body at the hint of pain. </p><p>She had kissed before. She just hadn’t known it could feel like this. </p><p>It didn’t matter how nice her last family was, getting caught kissing their daughter was enough to turn them from Dr Jekyll to Mr Hide. Jamie left for London soon after that, took the money the husband kept under the mattress — even bank managers didn’t trust their banks — and got the first train down to London.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p>‘You see that posh woman over there?’ </p><p>Jamie tipped back her pint, drinking down her beer as her eyes glanced over to the bar where a woman was standing with her back to her. ‘Yeah, what about her?’ </p><p>‘Don’t know about you, but she’s been eyeing you over her shoulder for a long time, looking real keen, like,’ said Freddie. His eyebrows waggled suggestively. </p><p>‘Yeah, alright, enough with that will you.’ She shoved Freddie on the shoulder who only laughed and tipped to the side. </p><p>But as much as Jamie tried to stop herself, her eyes went to the woman at the bar like metal to a magnet. She took in the slim line of her neck and the subtle dip of her waist. The woman was older with a hint of silver grey at her temples. </p><p>Any other pub in London or in the rest of the country for all she knew, she would have been thrown out for ogling a woman so openly, but not at the Royal Vauxhall Tavern. Jamie loved it here. It was a safe place where she could be herself. If she leaned closer to another woman than was acceptable or if she linked hands with another woman in plain view of everyone else, well, it wasn’t like there was anyone in the pub that was going to care. The drag queens were a lot more interesting to watch in the pub than her and whatever girl that interested her that night. </p><p>‘Hey, Jamie.’ Freddie caught her on the arm. His eyes steely as his hand tightened. ‘Remember, tomorrow night, usual place, yeah?’ </p><p>‘We got this Freddie, no need to get your knickers in a twist.’ She shook her arm from his grasp and ran a hand through her hair. ‘Look, we’ve been planning this for months. The gig will go without a hitch and we’ll all be the richer for it.’</p><p>Freddie scrubbed at the grizzle on his chin and jaw. There were shadows beneath his eyes and he shook his head sharply. ‘Yeah, you’re right, ‘course it will be fine. I’m just worrying for nothing.’ </p><p>‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’ Jamie nodded and grinned at the wink Freddie gave. She grabbed her half-finished pint of beer and weaved her way to the bar. </p><p>If she hadn’t fallen in with Freddie and his crew when she had first stepped off the train at King’s Cross all those years ago, she wasn’t sure what would have happened. Probably got in a lot less trouble with how often they stole and burgled, but she had to make ends meet. It wasn’t like she could get an honest job that paid well when she hadn’t even finished school. Her sticky fingers and idle hands made her good at what she did with Freddie. That was all that mattered. sFreddie couldn’t have cared who she fucked, as long as she wasn’t late for a gig. </p><p>Jamie slid into the empty space next to the woman. The scent of rose perfume tickled her nose as she sipped casually from her pint. She put the glass down with a dull thud and glanced at the woman from the corner of her eyes to see a smile on lusciously red-painted lips. </p><p>‘So what’s a nice looking woman like you doing in a place like this?’ asked Jamie. She leaned against the bar and angled her body to the woman. Jamie’s gaze flicked from her green eyes to her mouth and back up to her eyes again. </p><p>The smile turned sly and her lips tilted upwards teasingly. ‘Whoever said I was nice?’ </p><p>Jamie smiled back. She took in the coiffed hair, the patterned, loose wrap dress, and the understated but clearly very expensive jewelled necklace she wore around her neck. There was a confident set to her shoulders that spoke of her comfort in the Royal Vauxhall. It wasn’t her first time at this pub. She held out her hand, ‘I’m Jamie.’ </p><p>The women grasped Jamie’s fingers without looking away. ‘Veronica.’ </p><p>‘Nice to meet you.’</p><p>‘Likewise.’ </p><p>‘Do you want to get out of here?’ </p><p>Veronica’s smile became a smirk. Her grip on Jamie’s hand became firmer. ‘I thought you would never ask.’ </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p>It didn’t matter that the job to burgle a house out in Hampstead Heath had been planned for months. All the arguments on who would drive the getaway van to breaking into the house, down to who would keep look out and when the clean up crew would arrive had been worthless. No amount of planning could have prepared Jamie for getting caught.</p><p>She had run into her fair share of police officers in her time in London. There were the ones who turned the other way when they caught her with something she shouldn’t have. A few who she joked with as they patrolled the streets on their beats. None of those officers were around when they threw her into a cell, their lips in sneers as they spat at her and called her trash. No, this wasn’t like the times she got a few fines and did community service for the one time she got nicked for stealing. </p><p>Jamie fumed in her cell, hand clenching and unclenching, teeth grinding as she thought of all the ways she could get Freddie once she was out of this place. The funny thing that she learnt was the legal system was not that different from the foster care system. Old, white men looked down on her from the moment she was arrested, as if they were better than her. Within a day of being locked up, an old man in an expensive suit visited her and said something about him being her solicitor. They ferried her from court to holding cell and in the end, she didn’t make bail. The trial took months and her barrister, another old white man in a horse-hair wig and a black gown like cape who never looked at her for more than a few seconds, had defended her. He had shrugged like it wasn’t his problem when the jury convicted her for burglary.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p>Two years. <em>Two years </em>in prison and Freddie? Well, he got fucking nothing. Freddie who had bolted at the first sign of the pigs in their flashing cars. Freddie who had left her and his crew to take the fall. Freddie who was on the outside and free as a flying kite. </p><p>Jamie crossed her arms over her chest. They’d been making her sit in the same room with some psychologist since the moment she first stepped through the prison gates. As if some random hoity-toity, middle-class woman with the perfect education, perfect husband, perfect family… The perfect everything could under what it was like for Jamie. She glared off at the side and studiously avoided the eyes of the woman sitting on the sofa across from her. </p><p>‘Why did you first come to London?’</p><p>Jamie’s shoulder moved up and down in a careless shrug. ‘I felt like it.’</p><p>‘Can you tell me why you felt like it, Jamie?’ </p><p>Her hands curled into fists. Frustration simmered in the pit of her stomach. Her knuckles were white with how hard she clenched her fists. What was this woman’s problem? Didn’t she get that Jamie didn’t <em>want</em> to talk. </p><p>Jamie’s mouth twisted in displeasure. She spat out, ‘no, I don’t feel like telling you, <em>Tamara</em>.’ </p><p>Tamara leaned back in her chair and took her glasses off. She dusted them off with the hem of her shirt. Jamie frowned at the gesture. When Tamara put her glasses back on, she looked at Jamie with an expression that she didn’t get often, patience and understanding and completely without scorn. ‘How about I tell you something about myself?’</p><p>Jamie rolled her eyes and slouched in her chair.</p><p>‘My dad’s Samuel Campbell and my mum’s Amy Campbell, née Brown,’ said Tamara with a small shrug and smile. ‘Samuel met Amy when she was 22 and he was 26. They came to England from Jamaica on the<em> HMT</em> <em>Empire Windrush </em>in the late ‘40s. They docked at Tilbury Docks and the first thing my dad said was how damn cold England was.’</p><p>An involuntary huff of laughter escaped Jamie before she could stop herself. She rearranged her face back to indifference. Tamara stared back at her with a raised brow and nodded, as if to say it was Jamie’s turn. </p><p>Jamie stayed stoically silent and stared back. She had meetings with Tamara three times a week and Tamara never stopped talking in them, latching onto the tiniest scraps that Jamie gave out when she was too tired from sleepless nights to hold her tongue. </p><p>The thing with Tamara was that she was <em>relentless</em>. Even her silent staring matches were a battle and a half for Jamie to get through.</p><p>‘Fine,’ muttered Jamie. She leaned forward, elbows on her knees as she clasped her hands together. This was pointless. Therapy.</p><p>Jamie bit the inside of her cheek. Her right leg bounced up and down. The words were like a boulder in her throat, an obstacle so large and encompassing that it physically hurt to get out. She pursed her lips and nodded, mostly to herself and not really at Tamara. The linoleum beneath her feet was scuffed and scratched from years of chair legs being dragged across. </p><p>‘Right, well…’ Jamie trailed off and looked up at Tamara who had that same patient look on her face. She didn’t think talking would help at all, but there was a tightness in her chest and like a coiled spring was in danger of releasing without control. Jamie breathed in deeply, held it in for a few seconds and breathed out. ‘Where should I start?’ </p><p>Tamara smiled kindly. ‘The beginning. That’s always a good place to start.’ </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p>Time moved both slowly and quickly on the inside. It was what happened in a place that had a set time for everything. Jamie woke when she was told, ate breakfast, lunch and dinner when the bell rung, bathed when it was her turn, and slept at lights out. Or at least she tried to sleep. Talking to Tamara helped and going to bed each night wasn’t just an exercise in lying awake with her eyes closed. </p><p>It got easier and there was unexpected freedom in being told what to do. Every day had become a sequence of actions and it was the most routine Jamie had ever had since she was a kid. </p><p>Jamie wiped at her forehead with the back of her hand, smudging dirt onto her sweat-covered skin. She pressed down the soil around the tomato plant she had replanted into the raised plant beds in the prison garden. Other than the daily things she needed to do, working in the gardens took up most of her day. She gave the soil one last pat and sat back on her heels to look at her handiwork.</p><p>‘You got something of a natural talent with this gardening biz,’ said Jim, the prison gardener in charge. </p><p>‘Nah, wouldn’t call it a natural talent,’ Jamie shrugged and wiped her hands on her overalls, ‘can’t really go wrong with plant this, water that.’ </p><p>Jim laughed, a deep jolly rumble that started from his belly. His laughs always made Jamie smile. There hadn’t been a lot to smile about at first, but then she had been allocated to work in the garden and just being outside was enough to make her smile, even a little.</p><p>‘Don’t put yourself down.’ Jim slapped his large hand on her shoulder. ‘Being able to garden isn’t just watering and making sure it doesn’t die. It’s all about the care, attention, and a little bit of love you put into each thing.’ </p><p>Jim moved on to the other side of the garden and left Jamie with his words. She rubbed her fingers and thumb together, feeling the soft loaminess of the soil on her skin. The soil covered her hands, got under her nails, and dirtied her overalls. Her back ached from bending over plant beds. The skin on her knuckles and creases of her palms were cracked from the cold. But none of that mattered, when she saw the growth, the first bud of a flower, and the fruits of her labour at the end of a season. </p><p>The tomatoes she had planted would grow, soaking up the sun with its leaves and the water from its roots, and eventually, it would be time for Jamie to harvest. All the effort and energy she took in caring for the seeds, in making sure they were watered, and the replanting and pruning… It would all be worth it. </p><p>Jamie sighed, a long breath exhaled into the air as she looked at the garden around her. Even in a prison with the four walls that kept her in, she felt alive here in a way that she hadn’t on the outside. It wasn’t peace, maybe not even contentment, but she was okay for the moment. The anger from <em>everything</em> was still there, a low ember that was getting smaller and smaller with every session she had with Tamara, with every day she worked in the garden. It wasn’t the roaring bonfire that inhabited and fuelled Jamie like it used to.  </p><p>She breathed in the fresh air and went back to tending the plants. There was no one else to bother her. Just her, the plants and her thoughts, and not another soul that she needed to care about. </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p>‘You ready to try something new?’ asked Beverly. She was Jamie’s probation worker. The one they assigned to her when she got out on good behaviour. </p><p>Jamie leaned back on the rickety chair in the pokey little office that the probation service kept Beverly in. This was her fifth meeting with the portly woman who reminded Jamie of her old school’s matron. Beverly was definitely nicer, but she kept Jamie on the straight and narrow. No feet on chairs had been her first rule. </p><p>‘Alright, I’ll bite,’ said Jamie finally. ‘What have you got for me?’</p><p>‘I think you should apply here, do your green fingers some good,’ Beverly flicked through the file and handed a piece of paper to Jamie, ‘they’re looking for a groundskeeper.’ </p><p>Jamie read through the advertisement Beverly handed to her. She was frowning by the time she got to the bottom. ‘They sound posh, even their surname looks posh.’ </p><p>‘They’re an old family, but I hear they’ve been trying to fill the post for a while,’ explained Beverly. She smiled encouragingly. ‘It’s out in the country in Essex.’ </p><p>‘I don’t know, Bev, you think they would even pick up the phone for someone like me?’ </p><p>‘You won’t know if you try.’ </p><p>Jamie’s nose scrunched up as she made a face. She wasn’t convinced. But Beverly hadn’t been anything other than helpful since she got out. She owed it to herself and Beverly to try even if it was a dead end. Like the other twenty job applications she had done. Jamie took the advertisement and stuffed it into the back pocket of her jeans.</p><p>‘Fine, I’ll give it a go, just ‘cause it’s you Bev.’</p><p>The folded piece of paper burned a hole in Jamie’s pocket all week. She knew it was there. Every night she took it out from her pocket and held it up, as she laid on the top bunk in the hostel she stayed in. Jamie dropped her hand on her chest and stared up at the shitty, stained ceiling of the room. She imagined being a groundskeeper in some fancy country estate with huge grounds for her to take care of. Just her and the plants and none of the exhaustion that came with interacting with people. Every day spent outdoors or in a green house with her hands in the soil, coaxing and caring for something to grow. </p><p>Gardening for a living and doing something she actually enjoyed? Wasn’t that the dream. </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p>The days went by. A week turned into two then three. Beverly hadn’t said anything in their meetings about whether Jamie had applied for the job. She didn’t have to. Jamie felt it in her question at the end of each of their meetings. </p><p>‘See you next week then?’ </p><p>‘Yeah,’ said Jamie week after week. ‘Same day next week.’ </p><p>By the time London welcomed the new year, a month had passed since Beverly had first passed her the advertisement. The weight of the sealed envelope she kept folded in half was like an anchor in her back pocket. All it would take was for Jamie to take the envelope out and pop it into a post box. There were plenty of those around London. </p><p>It was on one particularly bitter cold January night, as she had made her way back to the hostel from her bartending job when she bumped into the last person she ever wanted to see again. </p><p>‘What do you want Freddie?’ Jamie hunched inside her coat, stuffing her hands deep into her pockets as she glared at the man in front of her bundled in a coat. He looked just as he did two years ago with days-old scruff on his chin and tired and shifty eyes. When she was on the inside, she had dreamed of all the things she would do to him if she ever got her hands on him, but all she felt now was weariness. </p><p>‘Come on, I figured I'd get a warmer welcome,’ said Freddie with a jaunty grin. His smile dropped and his face turned serious when she didn’t reply. ‘So I have this gig coming up that could use your help. It’s got a good payoff.’ </p><p>‘Are you having a laugh?’ An incredulous expression crossed Jamie’s face. She shook her head. ‘I lost two years of my life to one of your gigs and you expect me to pretend that it didn’t happen?’ </p><p>‘We all knew the risk when we took the job.’ Freddie shrugged and rummaged in his coat. He took out a box of smokes and matches, hands shaking from the cold as he took a smoke, placed it between his lips, and lit it with a match. ‘When things turn south, it’s every man for themselves, y’know what it’s like.’</p><p>Jamie stepped forward, shoulders squaring, and poked hard at the middle of his chest. ‘Don’t you dare talk to me like you didn’t sell us out,’ she said through gritted teeth. ‘You only gave a fuck about saving your own skin.’ </p><p>‘Yeah, alright, I get it.’ Freddie held up his hands in surrender. The cigarette bobbed as he spoke, ‘so what d’you say? One last gig before you retire?’ </p><p>‘I’m out, Freddie,’ growled Jamie and she jabbed her finger into his chest hard enough that he stumbled backwards. ‘I don’t know you and you don’t know me, so fuck off and don’t ever talk to me again.’ </p><p>Jamie turned around sharply and walked away from Freddie. She walked and walked, past the hostel and down the street. She got colder the longer she was out in the frigid January chill. Her shoulders were hunched up to her ears, her fingers had lost feeling inside her pockets, and her nose was like an icicle. But she kept walking until she was as far away from Freddie and all he represented of her life before she went to prison. The things she had done to survive. </p><p>A bright red post box at the end of the street was like a beacon in the dark night. Jamie stopped abruptly and stared at the narrow slot. Jamie sighed loudly, her breath a wisp of fog in the air, as the folded letter made its presence known.</p><p>‘Fuck it.’ </p><p>Jamie took the envelope from her back pocket and shoved it into the slot. The creased envelope with her handwritten cover letter and one page CV that Beverly helped her type up was swallowed by the post box. Done. Gone. </p><p>Whoever this Dominic and Charlotte Wingrave was, she doubted they would read her letter. For all she knew, she might not ever get a reply, let alone a job offer. Jamie breathed deeply and released a slow breath. The tension in her chest lessened and the weight on her shoulders a little lighter. It didn’t matter if the Wingraves never replied. At least she had done something and had taken fate in her own hands. </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p>‘Wingrave residence.’</p><p>‘Um, hello? This is Jamie Taylor calling.’</p><p>'Jamie…? Oh, yes! You applied for the groundskeepers post,' came the surprised voice from the phone and into Jamie’s ear. </p><p>‘Yeah, yeah, I did… Is this Lady Wingrave?’ asked Jamie. She cleared her throat, breath fogging up in front of her in the tight, enclosed space of the telephone box. ‘Sorry for calling out of the blue, but you said to call when I got the chance?’ </p><p>‘I am and I did,’ said Lady Wingrave. ‘Thank you for calling, actually, you called at just the right time.’</p><p>‘I did?’ Jamie pushed the phone harder against her ear, afraid that she would miss something. </p><p>A cream coloured envelope with Jamie’s name and the hostel’s address written in neat, cursive handwriting had arrived for her a week ago. A short message written on thick expensive paper telling her to call as soon as possible. She had hesitated, her fears getting the better of her and she had almost thrown the letter away. </p><p>‘Yes, we were hoping you could start next week, if that is not too short notice,’ Lady Wingrave paused. The sound of children chattering in the background filtered through the phone filled the few seconds where neither Jamie or Lady Wingrave spoke. ‘Of course, we would fully reimburse you for the journey and the initial stay, I understand it is quite an inconvenience to—’</p><p>‘Yeah, I can start next week,’ blurted Jamie. She was probably coming off as rude and impolite, but she was unable to keep the words in until Lady Wingrave finished. ‘It’s no trouble at all.’</p><p>‘Oh, that is just splendid! Our address was included in the letter, so shall I say we will be expecting you next Monday?’ </p><p>Jamie agreed, belatedly remembering to thank Lady Wingrave for the opportunity and hung up the phone on the hook. She released a shaking breath as the coins clattered down into the payphone, disbelief running through her that for the first time in years, something had gone the way she wanted. </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p>Bly was nothing like London. </p><p>There was none of the busyness or the bustling noises of black cabs and double-decker buses. London was full of life, things to do and unfriendly people who didn’t look twice as they sped past on their way to the Tube. It was a city who didn't care to know someone. How could it when it was filled with people?</p><p>With so many people around Jamie, they never really stopped to look at her and that was what she liked about it. The anonymity. No jeering gazes followed her. No whispers of being a whore's daughter thrown her way. No Dennis, Louise, Denny or Mikey. No foster families. London was the first place she had felt accepted. Even if it did fuck her over for a couple of years. </p><p>The town of Bly was different. It was the opposite of the capital. Quiet and secluded. Not dead like the little town in South Yorkshire. They called it a town, it really was just bigger than a village, and Bly was quiet in a way that only small towns were. It was peaceful in a way that told of tightly guarded secrets that outsiders like she weren’t privy too. Whatever, it wasn’t like she was here to make friends.</p><p>Jamie fell into life at Bly with unusual ease. Her little flat above the pub was cheap. The landlady didn’t mind that she couldn’t pay the deposit. It had been enough for her to know that Jamie was the new gardener at Bly Manor. It had helped that no one wanted to live above a pub, but it was hers and she hadn’t had anything that was <em>just</em> hers in ever. </p><p>Her employers, Dominic and Charlotte Wingrave were a proper Lord and Lady. Old fashioned in the way they did things to uphold tradition, but not in their views and opinions. They had, after all, agreed to employ Jamie despite her history.</p><p>They were everything she expected of a Lord and Lady. Rich. Well-dressed. Well-spoken. The perfect nuclear family with two kids, Miles and Flora. Young, happy children who ran havoc on the grounds and got up to all sorts of mischief.</p><p>It was easy to accept those things when all her life she had seen it in motion. Better money came with better opportunities. It was a fact of life. Being born into one family over another, well that was the luck of the draw. She was born Jamie Taylor and there was no dressing it up. A spade was a spade.  </p><p>‘How are you settling in Jamie?’</p><p>Jamie jumped slightly, caught unaware as she was lost in thought harvesting the last of the season’s Brussels sprouts. She straightened up and turned, the sprouts rolled about in the weaved basket she was using to collect them in. ‘I’m settling alright, thank you.’ </p><p>‘That’s good, it’s only been three weeks, but I can see you are already at home with the garden and the grounds.’ Charlotte Wingrave smiled at Jamie. She wore a beige wool trench coat and fashionable wellies on her feet, in sharp contrast to Jamie’s tatty farmer’s coat and mud splattered green wellies. </p><p>‘Yeah, the grounds are great.’ Jamie shifted on her feet, toes numb from the cold. It was the beginning of February and the winter chill hadn’t let up. Charlotte’s eyes went to the basket of sprouts tucked against Jamie’s side.   </p><p>‘I’ll have to warn Dominic that there’ll be sprouts for roast on Sunday,’ said Charlotte with a sly wink. ‘He hates them, but Mrs Dryden insisted the old groundskeeper to grown them in the garden.’ </p><p>Jamie rolled her eyes. There was no love lost between her and Mrs Dryden, the sixty year-old woman who cooked for the Wingraves. Jamie had been made to scrubs her hands raw and brush down her boots before she could even step foot into the kitchen. </p><p>‘If Lord Wingrave doesn’t like sprouts, I can always start planting other types of vegetables that he might like.’ </p><p>‘Plant whatever you like,’ said Charlotte breezily. ‘There’s a garden centre a few miles away from Bly that you can get whatever is needed and all you’ll have to do is ask them to charge it to Bly Manor. They’ll know who to send the bill to.’ </p><p>‘Thank you, I might just do that.’ Jamie looked around the bare vegetable garden and already had in mind what she wanted to do with it once it got warmer. </p><p>Charlotte nodded, signalling the end of their conversation. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’ </p><p>Jamie nodded and smiled awkwardly. Some things were easy to accept, but the Wingraves being unexpectedly <em>kind </em>had been a difficult one for her<em>.</em> That was something she had not expected. </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p>But as was the way of things when it came to Jamie’s life, nothing good ever lasted. It was thanks to one person that her quiet life at Bly turned less quiet:</p><p>Peter <em>fucking</em> Quint.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p>Jamie had heard the au pair before she saw her. That lilting American accent that sounded so foreign to Jamie’s ears. The unfamiliar pitches and pronunciations travelled loud and easy through the air. Her voice had made Jamie stop and hide behind a large bush when she saw the au pair and the children on their walk. </p><p>With how big the manor and its grounds were, it was easy to avoid Dani Clayton until the last possible moment. And when it was no longer possible, Jamie’s quiet life shattered with a single gaze of those brilliant, blue eyes over a plate of bangers and mash. </p><p>All it took was that one gaze to turn into more. Dani with her surreptitious glances when she thought Jamie wasn’t looking. Jamie with her side-eyed glances as she watched Dani stir milk into her tea, sat at the kitchen table on a rare break from minding the children. </p><p>Jamie grabbed a mug from the cupboard and sat down opposite Dani who was staring intently into her tea. ‘Dare I ask who brewed the tea?’ </p><p>A smile tugged at Jamie’s lips at the musical laugh that escaped Dani and broke through the serious look on her face. ‘You’ll be happy to know that it was Owen who made the tea, not me.’</p><p>‘Good, ‘cause your tea making skills really aren’t up to par.’ Jamie took the teapot and poured herself a cup. </p><p>‘Maybe you can teach me?’ </p><p>Jamie’s head jerked up. The question wasn’t flirty at all, but she couldn’t help but hear it that way. Dani’s teeth worried her bottom lip like she had said something she shouldn’t have. Her eyes were so incredibly blue in the light that filtered in through the paned windows of the kitchen, filled with hesitation and something that looked an awful lot like interest to Jamie. </p><p>‘Yeah, alright, I can teach you.’ The words were out of Jamie’s mouth before she could stop them. Her heart jolted at the way Dani’s mouth widened into a smile that lit up her eyes. </p><p>‘Okay, Teach,’ Dani straightened up in her chair and folded her arms on the table, ‘I’m ready for my tea-making 101.’ </p><p>‘The most important part of the perfect cuppa is having a cheeky biscuit with it,’ said Jamie. She got up, thankful for the brief moment away from Dani’s orbit. They’d only known each other a few weeks and yet, it felt longer than that already. Like Dani had always been there.</p><p>She got the biscuit tin from the cupboard and sat down next to Dani. An adorable furrow appeared between Dani’s brow, but she reached into the tin Jamie offered. ‘What makes it cheeky?’ </p><p>‘If Hannah was here she would tell us off for spoiling our appetite.’ Jamie bit into her shortbread and savoured the burst of sugary-buttery taste on her tongue. Dani looked at her funny, eyes fixed on the lower part of her face. ‘What? Is there something on my face?’ </p><p>Jamie swiped at her chin with her hand only to stop at the touch against the corner of her mouth. Her eyes went wide as Dani’s soft fingertips brushed against her skin. Dani’s eyes were focused on Jamie’s lips, transfixed and seemingly unaware of the effect she had on Jamie. The tip of Dani’s forefinger slid along her bottom lip. At Jamie’s gasp, the moment splintered and reality pushed its way between them unforgivingly. </p><p>Dani snatched her hand back. A deep flush rose from her neck to her face. ‘I-I’m sorry… I don’t know…’</p><p>Jamie watched as Dani shot to her feet with panic on every part of her expression. She ran from the kitchen. With just the slightest touch of her fingertips, she had left an invisible, scorching brand on Jamie’s lips. </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p>The frightened expression when Dani had unthinkingly touched her lips was warning enough to Jamie. She was old enough to know that she didn’t want that kind of exhaustion. Life had taught her that there were some things that weren’t worth it in the world. People included. She had already gone through too much shit to go through more. Even if it was Dani Clayton. It had taken a while, but Jamie had finally found some semblance of peace in her life. Not peace. Not even contentment, if she was being honest. Nice was maybe more fitting. A little boring too. She had a nice, boring life here at Bly. It was comfortable being the gardener at Bly Manor. Five years of it and she still loved it. She got on well with Hannah and Owen, when he replaced old Mrs Dryden. She had a flat above the pub. The people in town didn’t bother her, just left her alone to her own business without any prying. </p><p>Jamie didn’t need the stirring inside her chest every time she saw Dani in the kitchen. She didn’t want the weighted gazes that held the promise of <em>something</em> undefinable when their eyes met. She didn’t need another thing in her life to fight for. She had done her fair share of fighting, mostly for herself, and her armour was rusty and old. </p><p>But god, this woman was struggling. Dani looked so sad, carrying guilt on her shoulders so immense that it weighed on every expression, action and gesture she did. All for something that she couldn’t have controlled. Jamie would know. Most of her life had been a series of things that could not have been controlled. That wasn’t how life worked. If Jamie had been able to control the uncontrollable, well, she would have chosen being happier earlier.  </p><p>Jamie paused on her walk back to the garden outhouse and stood on the paved patio at the back of the manor. She watched Dani as she kept watch over Miles and Flora. Her profile was a picture of agitation, pain in her eyes, tension in her shoulders and in the way she wrung her hands together when she thought no one was looking. There wasn’t a thing Jamie could do to stop her curiosity. She crossed the few metres and dropped next to Dani on the wooden bench.</p><p>‘Nice weather, ain’t it Poppins?’ Jamie’s hand itched to cover Dani’s and still her distressed fingers. </p><p>‘It’s okay.’ </p><p>Jamie turned to the children at Dani’s lacklustre response and groaned. ‘The gremlins are ruining my lawn.’ </p><p>A quiet huff of laughter had Jamie turning back and her heart jumped at seeing Dani’s smile. It was small. Nothing more than a quirk of her lips, but it was a smile all the same and chased away the haunted look that was appearing more frequently.</p><p>‘You laugh, but you never had to fill in all the potholes they dug into the ground when they had their dinosaur phase.’ </p><p>Jamie couldn’t stop a smile of her own. The need to cheer Dani up was almost unquenchable. Her bad jokes and puns weren’t nearly as terrible as Owen’s, but they did their job and it was enough to see the growing smile on Dani’s face.</p><p>She placed her hand on Dani’s, gave a quick squeeze, and withdrew as she stood. ‘You’re doing alright, Poppins, don’t forget that.’ </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p>It was getting harder for Jamie to resist Dani Clayton, or stop the way her stomach squirmed just at the sight of her, or stop her eyes from lingering too long on Dani’s mouth when they talked. Jamie took a breath and knocked on the door. </p><p>‘You decent?’ </p><p>The muffled ‘come in’ was invitation enough and Jamie pushed open the door. </p><p>There was softness in Dani’s eyes, tempered by unbearable sadness. Dani looked so lost, like a person marooned on a desert island with no hope, standing in the middle of her room in a little black dress, a tad too scandalous for a funeral.  </p><p>Jamie’s chest tightened at the utter desolation in Dani’s shoulders and the urge to comfort rose strong. She held onto Dani’s elbows gently. Her thumbs rubbed soothing circles, trying to dispel the anxiety that held firm on Dani’s face. ‘I promise, I don’t need you to be my date to Owen’s mum’s funeral.’ </p><p>‘Okay, okay,’ whispered Dani shakily, voice watery as her body almost sagged with relief. ‘Can you get this thing off?’ </p><p>‘Blimey.’</p><p>Jamie joked, because cracking jokes was easier to do than think about what those words meant. Even if it was wishful thinking. She pinched the zip between her thumb and finger, placed her other hand on Dani’s shoulder. In the silence of the room, the sound of the zip was loud as it travelled from the top of Dani’s dress to the bottom. Her fingertips callused and rough from all the work she did outside, placed gently on the soft skin at the bottom of Dani’s neck for purchase at a particularly stubborn bump in the zip.</p><p>A shiver ran through Dani’s body; she released a shaking breath before flinching from Jamie’s touch. Dani whirled round and gasped so loudly that Jamie’s heart lurched to her throat. </p><p>Dani’s jumpy nerves and unhappiness returned with a vengeance. Although, she said she was fine, Jamie left for the funeral reluctantly.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p>Dani had an irritating habit of jumping back when things got overwhelming. The time she had touched Jamie’s lips under the pretence of making tea. The flinch and gasp when Jamie had helped with the zip on her dress that morning. </p><p>None of that stopped Jamie from sliding her hands into Dani’s hair, smiling when Dani said she was sure. In the darkness of the garden outhouse, Jamie sank back into their kiss, tasting red wine and smoke from a bonfire, and drank in the soft gasps when their lips met again and again in urgent presses. Dani’s hands were on her waist, gripped her shoulders, pressed against her thigh. All Jamie could do was hold on, thumbs wiping away the wet tears that had gathered beneath Dani’s closed eyes, and hoped to god that it wouldn’t end. </p><p>Then Dani jumped back, another loud, frightened gap and with a terrified pleading in her eyes for Jamie to understand. </p><p>But Jamie couldn’t. At least, not now. </p><p>Not right now when she couldn’t stand to feel the way her blood had run cold when Dani jerked away. </p><p>To have tasted heaven only for it to be ripped from her was unnecessarily cruel. </p><p>Jamie shook her head at herself. She had done this time. She had gone and got herself invested into something that might only end in heartbreak. </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p>Dani’s hands on her waist. The heat of the kiss. The relief in the firmly uttered, ‘yes’. The memory of that night was seared into Jamie’s memory. It rose to the forefront of her mind when she worked, when she closed her eyes, when she did anything really. It haunted her every waking moment. It haunted her dreams. </p><p>The week off hadn’t done her any good. Jamie returned to Bly on a Thursday morning, expecting secretive glances and for them to tip-toe around each other like there was glass on the floor. She didn’t expect Dani to appear at six in the morning with god-awful coffee, looking a little calmer and less fretful than she had been that night. </p><p>‘I wanted to start doing something right.’ </p><p>A kernel of hope took root in Jamie’s heart and against all the things she said she wouldn’t do, she asked a second time. ‘Are you sure about that?’ </p><p>It grew like a green shoot breaking through the soil. The subtle flirting. Dani’s bad imitation of Jamie’s accent that had her biting down a smile as she patted at soil that didn’t need patting down. With every appearance of that dimple at the corner of Dani’s mouth, every one of her shy looks, the pursing and un-pursing of her lips nourished that little shoot, and grew and grew until it became a thin sapling with enough strength to withstand winter. </p><p>It was in the exchange words, of something nice and boring, that held so much promise that it made Jamie’s heart race with <em>hope. </em>It filled her like it hadn’t filled her before. Not when she was a kid with a dad down the mines, as a teenager in foster care, or in her early twenties on the streets of London. </p><p>It was the hope that had Jamie, halfway home, driving back to Bly. It was in the thought of boredom that had Jamie leading Dani onto the grounds. It was in her cowardice that had her showing Dani the moonflowers. </p><p>Dani examined the petals of the moonflower. ‘Worth it, isn’t it?’  </p><p>Moonflower. People. Dani Clayton. Jamie Taylor. </p><p>Were they worth all the effort?</p><p>God, wasn’t that the million pound question?</p><p>‘That's a lot of work for a flower that only blooms once.’</p><p>Jamie smiled ruefully at the dirt beneath her feet. Clever Dani Clayton had hit the nail on the head. ‘That’s what people feel like to me. Exhaustive effort. Very little to show for it.’ </p><p>‘All of them?’ Dani’s voice hitched mid-way through her question and Jamie took the bait. </p><p>‘All of them. Even you. Even me.’ </p><p>
  <em>Especially me. </em>
</p><p>If there was anyone who wasn’t worth the exhaustive effort it was herself, thought Jamie. She leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees. She had too many skeletons hidden in closets to not give Dani fair warning before she was invested. So she would save Dani some effort. She would skip to the end. </p><p>Jamie took a deep breath and started at the beginning. It always led back to that little mining in South Yorkshire. She took a stab at the dark and waited to see if Dani would stay. It was easier this way. Less hurt and pain for Jamie if Dani didn’t like what was in front of her.</p><p>The words spilled and spilled until Jamie was silenced by Dani’s hands on her upper arms. She cradled Dani’s elbows gently and waited for her to make her choice. </p><p>The warm press of Dani’s lips against her was the best answer she had ever received.  </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p>Jamie’s eyes blinked awake. A weak sliver of light filtered in through the gap in the curtains. Her back was warm, the sheets were soft beneath her body, and the arms around her waist held her close to the body behind her. There was a delicious ache to her body that she hadn’t felt in a long time. She shifted around and faced Dani. </p><p>Dani’s eyes opened blearily, falling closed almost immediately. Jamie had never seen Dani so unweighted as she did now, warm and sleepy and very possibly dreaming. </p><p>In a voice husky with sleep, Dani mumbled something that sounded like good morning. </p><p>‘Morning,’ said Jamie quietly, feeling terrible for having woken Dani before she had to get up.</p><p>‘Is… time… get up…?’ Dani’s mouth moved slightly, words barely making sense. </p><p>An involuntary smile rose unbidden on Jamie’s lips as Dani burrowed her face into the space between her neck and chin. ‘Go back to sleep, we still have time.’ </p><p>Right now, with Dani’s arms around her and her arms around Dani, they had all the time in the world. </p><p>Jamie couldn’t say if she, Jamie Taylor, was worth it. </p><p>All she could say was that Dani was worth more than a try. And maybe, one day this just might be worth it and she could be worthy of Dani Clayton. </p><p> </p>
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